My mother loved gardening. This poem is about her garden, which was a thing of real beauty. Simple yet breathtaking.

Step barefoot into the garden,

early in the morning,

Dew shimmers on the grass

from the night rain.

Look behind you,

your footprints follow steadfastly,

Ghostly traces of your journey

through the garden.

The smell of earth rises,

drifts, hovers,

Lingers invitingly,

colours the air.

A benign breeze

bathes you with the scent of herbs,

Paints your soul and skin

with sunshine.

Breathe in!

The brushstrokes that created

this living canvas,

Were inspired and drawn

by the hand of love.

Each blade of grass, each bush, each tree

planted with real intent.

All have flowered into a world

where we all dare step.

Following the footprint

path  left behind us.

Into a world in which love

caresses the body.

Where joy lifts the spirits,

and anything seems possible